


Spoons

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:34:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traditional roles in a relationship and how Jake English doesn't care either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoons

**Author's Note:**

> And then suddenly sappy fluff.  
> Hope you enjoy; as always, concrit would be very very much appreciated!

You’re always the little spoon.

It’s a little irritating at first, because you’re still trying to get over the part where _he_ confessed to _you_ and kissed _you_ while you were still in shock and took _your_ breath right out of your lungs, all things that were, like being the big spoon, supposed to be your job. You had everything planned out, dammit. In the unlikely-as-hell event that he reciprocated, you intended to wear the metaphorical pants in the relationship.

So far, he is doing a very good job of reminding you that Jake English and thoughtful plans mix about as well as oil and water.

You try not to go down without a fight, for the sake of your pride, but it’s hard, loving a charming idiot for _years_ thinking it would never happen and then suddenly finding yourself in a position to be irritated about _who goes where when we cuddle_. It’s a positively ridiculous thing to get riled up about in the first place. You acknowledge this. You also acknowledge that it is really fucking hard to stay riled up when the charming idiot in question has his arms wrapped around you from behind, kissing and nuzzling at your hair as he hums along with the ending theme to the overdone adventure movie he picked out for the night.

“English,” you grumble, squirming a little. “English, I am not a puppy or a kitten or any other inane cute thing for you to fawn over. I am a man and I request to be treated as such.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder with a little snort. “I do not believe for one second that you are not enjoying this.”

You open your mouth to spout off your ironic comeback, realize you don’t have one, and shut your mouth again. Jake snickers and presses a light, chaste kiss to your jaw. “You’re perfectly ridiculous, Dirk.”

“Shut up,” you say. You have to stretch a bit to get the TV remote, since you couldn’t move from Jake’s lap if you wanted to. You turn off the television and with it the movie. “You want to talk about ridiculous? You used _handsome_ and _badass_ as adjectives to woo me and look what you’re doing now.”

“For the amount of complaining you’re doing, you’re certainly smiling an awful lot more than usual,” he remarks. You realize, with a dawning sense of horror and embarrassment, that he’s right. You’re not-- _grinning_ , not the way most people think of it, not really. But you have one of those stupid little lovestruck smile that negate any commentary aside from the positive that you could possibly be saying. At least it feels like it-- you don’t exactly have a mirror to look into. Wait did you just admit to feeling lovestruck.

“We ought to get to bed,” you say to change the subject. Jake lets his head drop back onto your shoulder with a little whine.

“Can’t we just sleep on the couch? Just for tonight?”

“ _You_ can sleep wherever you want,” you say, firmly, as you begin to disentangle yourself from him. “But _I_ have no intentions to subject my back to that.”

He sighs dramatically, and then suddenly you are several feet off the ground without any real stable structure supporting you-- aside from Jake, who you instinctively latch onto before your brain catches up to the new situation. He’s already walking down the hallway before you can escape.

“English,” you protest. He hums in acknowledgement. “There is absolutely no reason for you to be carrying me _bridal style_ to the bedroom, I have a perfectly fine, functioning set of legs.”

“I know,” he laughs, nudging the door open with his foot. “I just didn’t want to stop holding you, you know?”

“This is an insult to my manly pride, dude.”

You’re both already clad in pajamas, so he just dumps you onto the half-made sheets and crawls up next to you, smiling and shaking his head. “Your manly pride doesn’t let you let your boyfriend love on you?”

“Wh--” You plant one hand firmly over his mouth when he tries to lean in for a kiss. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to talk, you loser.”

“‘Trying’ being the operative word in that sentence,” he drawls. He gives up on the kiss and settles down against your back, one arm tucked under your head and the other draped over your waist. You manage to kick the blankets up until they’re suitably close enough for you to arrange them over the both of you, then prop yourself up on one elbow so you can put your shades and his glasses on the bedside table. Your fingers have barely left the switch on the lamp before he’s dragging you back to him, face tucked into your shoulder once again.

“I won’t stay the chick in this relationship forever,” you warn him, but it’s a halfhearted mumble. He just gives you a sleepy chuckle; the arm under your head forces you to look back towards him, and he steals an open-mouthed kiss.

“You aren’t now, either,” he murmurs against your lips, and wow that’s. That’s pretty nice and romantic and heart-meltingly charming. You guess. “We’re _both_ boys.”

“Well you keep treatin’ me like a girl,” you sigh.

“Not trying to,” he breathes, letting your head fall back to the pillow. “Mean to be showing you how much I fucking adore you.”

You’re tired, but not tired enough that your cheeks don’t immediately flush with heat, and the lovestruck smile is almost definitely making a return. You wriggle around in his grip until his chest is pressed to yours, rather than his back; you would call it face-to-face but it’s too dark for that to really matter. You have to trace his face with your fingers to find his grin again, but when you do, you brush your lips against it as sweetly as you dare.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But I get to be the goddamn big spoon every once in a while.”

He laughs, almost silently, just these bursts of warm air against your face with each exhalation. "I wouldn't have it any other way, love."

You trade a few more kisses, he with more breathless laughter and you murmuring affectionate insults. Somehow, you find yourself with your head cradled between his neck and shoulder, the arm under your head curled up so he can stroke your hair.

"Night, babe," you say, finally, as you let your eyelids flutter closed.

"Night," he echoes, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before you both drift off into sleep, wrapped in each other's arms and warmth and love.


End file.
